


Backwards

by marourin



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Arthur being maudlin, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Fanart, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Relationship Issues, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/pseuds/marourin
Summary: There are thousands of lives that end with them together and happy, ones where the Fischer Job ends and Eames is waiting for him with a taxi out of LAX. Ones where Arthur never leaves and he never finds out what it’s like to live in the winter of Eames’ contempt. Ones where Eames always forgives him in the end--every betrayal, every hurt, every long absence--and he can come home at last.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Belated Valentines gift to the Inception fandom! Because 5k of angst is exactly what everyone wanted, right?
> 
> SO. MANY. THANKS. To my amazing wonderful beautiful and patient beta [sofia_gigante](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante) for helping make sense of this fic. I 'm sorry for driving you bonkers with this, ilu so much for helping me out!
> 
> Any mistakes are solely mine.
> 
> Suggested listening for this fic: [This is Gospel (Piano version) by Panic! At The Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO2_3pVd5k0)

 

 

 

> _If I read our story backwards, it’s about how I unbroke your heart, then we were happy until one day you forgot my name forever – JGL, Tiny Book of Tiny Stories_

__

 

There are thousands of lives that end with them together and happy, ones where the Fischer Job ends and Eames is waiting for him with a taxi out of LAX. Ones where Arthur never leaves and he never finds out what it’s like to live in the winter of Eames’ contempt. Ones where Eames always forgives him in the end--every betrayal, every hurt, every long absence--and he can come home at last.

 

Arthur likes to live one or two of these lives. He rotates them everytime he goes under recreationally. In some of them they're married, with a white picket fence and a dog. In others they travel the world together, star crossed lovers on a honeymoon that never ends.

 

Then he wakes up to the asthmatic wheeze of the PASIV, and he’s staring at the ceiling of the bedroom that they used to share.

 

He never thought his apartment was sterile until the day he opened the door and it was cleared of everything Eames had gradually filled the space with. The paintings and knick knacks that Arthur used to get so irritated at were gone. The drawers that had gradually filled with Eames’ clothes were empty. The casual chaos of living with another human being had vanished without a trace, leaving only the clean, cool lines of his minimalistic furniture.

 

Some nights he sits up and stares at the blank white wall across from the bed, remembering the mural that had spanned from floor to ceiling. Eames had painted it one week when Arthur was away, and Arthur had been livid when he had come home to the sight. They had fought terribly that night. In secret, Arthur would admire the brilliant paint strokes and swoops of color that danced over the wall, knowing that it was an Eames original and it was for them and them alone. It had hurt like a physical blow to see it painted over, like it had never been there.

 

On those nights he checks his totem, making sure he isn’t buried in a dream anymore. Other nights, he obsessively rolls the dice over and over and over, spending hours willing the number to land on anything but three. Those nights he aches for his dreams but they’re like an old chest wound that never healed quite right.

 

~

 

“Mr. Eames.” Arthur felt his palms sweating slightly as he pulled his suitcase to the airport taxi stand. He offered the slightest of smiles as grey eyes flickered up to meet his own.

 

“Arthur, how can I help you?”

 

“Care to share a cab?” He inclined his head towards the waiting line of yellow cars.

 

Eames’ glance was casual and his smile slow, charming. “Yeah, why not?”

 

They barely made it to the hotel room- Eames’ lips burned like brands against the back of Arthur’s neck as he tried to get the door unlocked. They tumbled in, and the tension that had gripped his chest the entire cab ride loosened. Eames was here with him at the end of a journey that had lasted far too long. He gazed into storm grey eyes and a sweet warmth spread through him.

 

For once, he didn’t see the antagonism there. Something had changed after the Inception. Eames didn’t look at him as if he were watching something unpleasant. His voice didn’t sound like every remark was meant to cut and burn. It was like it had been in the beginning, the warm regard and teasing, the flirtation that he thought had been buried years ago by anger and resentment on both sides of the fence.

 

Eames’ lips were gentle on his and Arthur grew lost in the sensation of relief, of homecoming. It felt a little dangerously close to love.

 

Then the morning came with cold sheets and not even a hint that Eames had been in his hotel room other than the ghost of his cologne. If it weren't for the lingering stubble burn and finger tip sized bruises on his skin, Arthur might have thought he dreamt the entire encounter.

 

Arthur raked a hand through his mussed hair and he sank back onto the bed, closing his eyes. Something was slipping through his fingers, something precious and finite, and he felt helpless to keep the threads locked in his grasp.

 

~

There had been a time when Eames had been in love with Arthur and Arthur knew it. He could remember Eames’ soft smiles and light touches, the way he lingered just a little too long every time they were together and the way Eames curled his name fondly on his tongue. He could also remember how those small gestures were the last things he wanted. He had told Eames at the start that he didn’t want anything romantic with him, he just wanted something convenient with someone he didn’t have to work to get to know. Eames had agreed. But it was always there, not obvious enough for Arthur to call him out on it, but not subtle enough for him to ignore either.

 

The thing was, Eames came in during the worst part of Arthur’s life. He came in when Arthur didn’t have the space in his chest to accommodate anyone, no matter how small the sliver of real estate the person wanted was.

 

Project Somnacin left him haggard and haunted and angry at the world. The chipper SAR officer with the crooked teeth and storm grey eyes had made his life all the harder. He was always throwing Arthur sly winks and innuendo-laced conversation that made him burn with anger--and a million other emotions--that he could not deal with on top of getting shot to death on a daily basis.

 

When the shit hit the fan and Arthur had to hit the ground running, Eames waltzed in like a knight in tweed and paisley. He had a number that always worked for Arthur on a burner phone that looked like it had seen better days. His stolen military technology and his underground connections were new, but the sly winks and innuendo-laced conversations weren’t.

 

Then Mallorie killed herself. Arthur only had enough room to worry about Cobb and himself, to stay ahead of Interpol, the FBI, the CIA, and any other acronym that was chasing them from continent to continent. Then along came Eames again with his fond smile and shared history, and the greedy thief had tried to steal everything Arthur wasn’t offering.

 

Eames was a romantic of near silver screen proportions. He believed in flowers and chocolates, candlelight dinners, and little teddy bears with hearts. He remembered that Arthur didn't believe in these things. He remembered that Arthur liked science fiction novels and secretly preferred cream and sugar in his coffee, and to never ever tell him those three little words when he was awake. More importantly, he never expected them back. He was also romantic in ways Arthur never expected to, like when they were on beaches, or quaint towns, or hot Southeast Asian countries. Eames would kiss him under the blazing sun when Arthur was drunk enough on maotai and tsing tao beer to not push him away.

 

It made Arthur feel like he was being strangled by the loose leash of Eames’ affections.

 

Arthur left him to wake up to cold sheets in empty hotel rooms. He would remind Eames of their agreement every time he caught the other man slipping just a little. He ignored calls and used Eames’ affection to pull him into jobs below his pay grade. He sharpened his words like knives to carve out the pieces of Eames that he didn’t want in this arrangement of theirs.

 

Arthur never expected to be such an adept butcher.

 

The Eames back then had tried so hard to be who Arthur wanted him to be. It really was just irony that the Eames now had finally perfect the role. He smirked when Arthur opened his hotel door and left after a post coital cigarette in Arthur’s non-smoking rooms. There were no more casual touches in warehouses and abandoned offices. No more soft and lingering smiles when he thought Arthur didn't notice. Even the way he said his name had changed, where before his tongue would caress the first syllable just a little fondly, now it was short and came with an even shorter nod. He was professional and proper in all the ways that Arthur had wanted him to be once upon a time.

 

Now, Arthur grimaces at the cup of black coffee he gets himself every morning.

 

Eames didn’t even have the decency to be cruel about it. He was amenable and affable in every way that made him the perfect coworker and fuck buddy. Arthur just never realized how much he had grown used to being the one that Eames’ eyes and hands lingered on. Being treated like everyone else stung a bit, particularly whenever Eames smiled a bit too long at someone new.

 

Arthur wondered if there was even a brief moment where they loved each other, like the intersecting point of two lines that stretched into infinity.

 

It wasn’t entirely the same, at least. Arthur was sure that if he whispered to Eames that he was in love with him that Eames wouldn’t let the confession stretch between them, like a length of rope to hang himself with. The months upon months of bitter words and angry hate fucks were over. Eames never did anything to be deliberately cruel to him anymore. It was like a fire had burned out. The leftover ashes were tepid and unable to sustain another fire no matter how many logs Arthur tried to pile on.

 

~

 

The roar of the NYC traffic could barely be heard from their 15th floor hotel room as they celebrated after another job well done. Arthur traced the bridge of Eames’ nose with his fingertips and wondered if he would be able to recreate his face like a forge. He wondered how much longer he would be able to taste Eames like this, to have him and hold him in these fleeting moments that had grown further and further apart.

 

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.” Eames laughed and he flipped them over, sitting astride Arthur like a conquering warrior. “Come on, I have a flight in two hours.”

 

Arthur just held onto Eames and kissed him like he were dying of thirst. The heat of Eames’ body embraced him tightly, so good it almost hurt. Eames still knew how to take him apart, ever the attentive lover. They were always good at this part of their relationship, even when no other part aligned. He had to stop himself from gripping tighter to keep Eames from moving away when it was over.

 

“Are you taking the job in Hanoi?” Arthur asked when Eames came out of the bathroom, shamelessly naked and toweling off his short-cropped hair. Arthur didn’t have the will to not drink in his fill, his eyes hungrily roaming over expanses of inked skin and thickset muscles. He had left claw and bite marks on that golden skin, desperate to have some sort of visible proof of his claim over Eames, temporary as it was.

 

“I do believe I am. I’ve been missing the humidity. LA is far too dry for my poor English constitution.”

 

Arthur couldn’t help but wonder, hope, that if he dragged Eames back to the bed that he could convince him to miss his flight. His fingers curled a little, ready to reach out for Eames.

 

Then Eames was pulling up his pants and buttoning his shirt with a lazy efficiency.

 

Arthur thought about the question he wanted to ask. He thought about asking Eames to come back to bed, to stay the weekend. He thought about asking Eames if he wanted to go to Hanoi together. He thought about asking if Eames still--

 

“I’ll see you in six weeks then, Mr. Eames.”

 

“See you in Hanoi, Artie.”

 

The door quietly _snicked_ shut and Arthur never did manage to ask what he really wanted from Eames.

 

~

 

Hanoi was hot and the humidity made Arthur’s suit cling to him uncomfortably. Eames looked more than at home with his horribly crumpled linen trousers and light cotton button down. He looked every inch the tropical weather loving expat he was, down to the sleazy 5 o'clock and straw fedora he was sporting.

 

Arthur still had trouble looking away. It was only six weeks, hardly the longest time they had worked separate jobs, but it was six weeks where Arthur had to sit alone with the knowledge that he was in love with Eames. That he had hopelessly, stupidly, fallen in love with a man who was no longer in love with him.

 

“Come on, Mr. Eames. You can admire the locale later--we’re due for a meeting in 15,” Arthur said a little gruffly as he lead the way to the workspace he had scouted for the job. It was on the second floor above a pho shop and had no air conditioning, just lazy ceiling fans that creaked and rustled the papers on bare wood tables arranged in the sparsely furnished space.

 

The planning for the job was easy, with familiar names, competent and routine. It was an easy job, easy money and Arthur could let his mind drift a little as he tapped away at his laptop, his shirt sleeves rolled up in deference to the heat. He snuck glances at Eames now and then, the Forger stripped down to his trousers and an undershirt that was nearly sheer with sweat, showing the dark swirls of his tattoos.

 

“Come on, darling. Our turn to grab lunch, and to get some fresh air.” Eames stooped to snag his button-down off of the back of a splintering wicker chair.

 

“No more pho,” Meilin groaned from her paper models. “We’ve been eating pho every day this week and honestly, I would offer sexual services for frozen Yakult.”

 

“Oh would you now?” Eames leered a little. “Come along now, Artie, it looks like we have to raid some poor corner store.”

 

“Frozen, not fridged!”

 

Eames waved their architect off and slung a heavy arm over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur grimaced and he peeled it off. Eames’ heat was oppressive at the best of times. It was simply unbearable in this humidity.

 

“What should we get if we can’t get pho?” Eames asked. He scanned the crowded street lazily, assessing the various little shops.

 

“We’re not getting sushi again after the food poisoning incident two years ago,” Arthur admonished when he saw Eames’ gaze linger on a sunbleached sign advertising premium sushi.

 

“You’re no fun.” Eames gave Arthur a rather spectacular pout, which was undercut by the twinkle in his eyes. Arthur flushed a little as he realized Eames had deliberately reminded him of the the incident. They walked for a bit, both of them needing to stretch their legs after working all morning.

 

“Well, there’s plenty of stir fries and bahn mins…” Arthur got cut off when a splatter of water dropped on his already wilted hair.

 

“Bloody monsoon season,” Eames grumbled. He looked up at the sky, squinting at the heavy clouds. “I thought the humidity was getting particularly unbearable.” He grabbed Arthur’s wrist and tugged him into one of the shops. “Meilin will just have to make due with pho. We can wait out the storm here.” Eames sat down on one of the peeling, neon colored plastic stools and he squinted at the menu before calling for two beers.

 

“We’re still working, Mr. Eames.” Arthur sighed at him, but he sat himself gingerly on another rickety stool. He set his menu down and he glanced at Eames.

 

“Nonsense, we’re on our lunch break.” Eames continued ordering and little dishes of vegetables and meat were brought out with bowls of rice.

 

“You know I’m lapsed Jewish, right?” Arthur commented in dry amusement when he noticed that grilled pork wasn’t amongst the dishes.

 

“Oh darling, you know I just like to be conscientious.” Eames flashed a crooked grin at him.

 

Arthur picked up his bowl of rice and chopsticks to hide how much that expression worked on him. It was nice eating lunch like this, the small space pushing their knees together as they ate at the tiny, crowded table. The beer went down easily, and  the rain provided a blanketing drone around their idle conversation. For a moment, it was like the good old days. It was like when Eames smiled at him over green bottles, and kissed him in summer rains when Arthur pretended he was too drunk to push him away. He could feel the heat of Eames’ leg against his own and he was acutely aware of every minute shift he made.

 

“You know, we’re closer to our hotel than the office,” Eames said, licking chili oil from his reddened lips.

 

“Are you suggesting we play hookey?” Arthur arched an incredulous brow at Eames. The warm hand on his thigh had nothing to do with the shiver that went up his spine. It was just the draft from the rain outside.

 

“Why not? It’s pouring outside and it’s not like we had much to do today anyways.” Eames’ thumb rubbed slow circles against the dip of muscle in Arthur’s inner thigh. “Just text Meilin and tell her we’ll continue tomorrow.” Eames was close enough that his breath puffed hot and wet against Arthur’s cheek.

 

It was a terrible idea. Arthur knew it. He could feel the tremble of heat low in his stomach, the ache that told him to say “yes,” that let him pretend for just a little while that it was okay. It told him he should kiss Eames under the rain and press him against the wall in his hotel and make it so he’d never want to leave again. He knew by looking into those storm grey eyes that he was playing a game that he had already lost.

 

“Alright.”

 

Eames’ mouth tasted of chili and Tsingtao beer and Arthur tried to strangle the helpless feeling of hope that rose in his chest as his fingers threaded through Eames’ hair. That traitorous little voice told him it could be a do-over. He could stay, instead of leaving Eames to wake up in an empty bed. They could play it out like it should have been all this time. They could get a breakfast of puffy, sweet bánh bao and they could talk about the job and the possibility of the jobs after. They could sort out this confusing mess of a relationship and salvage something.

 

The trip back to the hotel was a blur of wet clothes and wet mouths. He could feel Eames’ hands rough against his hips as he was pulled in for kiss after kiss under the torrential rains. The AC chilled his skin to goosebumps as they stumbled into his room and his teeth would have chattered if it weren't for Eames’ insistent mouth against his own. He groaned and his head fell back as those hungry lips moved down his neck and nimble fingers plucked his shirt open, leaving him to the mercy of the cold air. He was burning so hot inside it made him dizzy and he clung to Eames, wanting him to be present and here and real.

 

He couldn’t name the emotion in those grey eyes as Eames sunk to his knees before him. He couldn’t think straight enough to know the mysteries that he had long since lost the right to decode on that patrician face.

 

Arthur leaned heavily against the wall, his breathing ragged. The quiet of the room was broken by the loud sound of his fly being undone. He choked out a cry when Eames’ mouth took him in, wet and hot and everything he had ever wanted. His fingers sank into the short-cropped strands of Eames’ hair. He tried to focus on the sight of those beautiful lips wrapped around him, at the heavy fall of Eames’ lashes against his cheekbones, and the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked.

 

There was a soft touch against his thigh and Arthur parted his legs to give Eames access. There was the crinkle of a foil packet opening and he could feel the cool, slick brush of Eames’ blunt fingers pressing behind his balls. The burn of the stretch was so good that Arthur’s head fell back.

 

“Eames...Eames please.”

 

There was a soft _pop_ as Eames pulled off of Arthur’s cock, and he licked the sticky precum from his reddened lips.

 

“Bloody gorgeous.”

 

Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames’ broad shoulders, and he heard a soft grunt as Eames hefted him up. His legs locked around Eames’ waist and he heard him fumble with his zipper. When Eames took him, Arthur clung on as if he could keep Eames with him by force.

 

He gazed into those affectionate eyes and he finally found the courage he had lacked in that LA hotel room six weeks ago.

 

“Do you still love me?” Arthur’s voice was hoarse and his body was trembling.

 

Eames had paused for a moment, then kissed him softly, slowly, regretfully.

 

“No darling, not anymore.”

 

Arthur came with a choked cry, the pleasure so intense it made his eyes tear up.

 

~

Arthur didn't see Eames again for months after the Hanoi job. He was licking his wounds in Seattle and the gloom and cold rain seemed to commiserate with his current state of mind.

 

He worked easy jobs to keep himself busy and he felt almost reluctant to find a bigger one, a job that Eames would be working. He felt mortified at Hanoi, even if Eames never mentioned a thing for the rest of the job.

 

So, the last thing Arthur expected was to see Eames at his front door.

 

“Eames…ow…this is a surprise. I didn't miss a call did I?”

 

“No, sorry. I didn't mean to come unannounced. I was in the area and I thought I'd drop in for a quick kip.” There was a forced joviality to Eames’ tone as he stepped into Arthur’s foyer and peeled off his rain coat.

 

Arthur waited for Eames to say more, explain his presence when he was suddenly swept up in a kiss. He yelped in surprise before he felt a warm quiver in his chest and he melted a bit into it. He had missed these kisses. Eames kissed like he was in a Hollywood romance--as if the cameras were zooming in for their close up as the sun set fire to the sky behind them. There had been precious few of these kisses since Arthur had left him in LA three years ago to follow Cobb around the world.

 

Arthur’s hand curled possessively around the back of Eames’ neck as he held him close, unable to help but respond.

 

Eames pulled back. “I've met someone.”

 

Arthur’s blood turned to ice.

 

“Jesus Christ, Eames, you could have sent me a text for that.” Arthur shoved him back.

 

“No, no...I mean, I’ve met someone, Arthur and...I've enjoyed our little trysts but I'm here because...well because I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss you.” Eames raked a hand through his hair. “It's not--I'm not completely in love with him yet, but I think we could have something good if I let it. I wanted to say goodbye to you, proper. We've been involved long enough for that at least.”

 

“You wanted one last fuck you mean?” Arthur spat out bitterly. He felt like he had taken a knife to the gut.

 

“We don't have to shag. I just...wanted to tell you in person.”

 

Arthur thought about the last year and how he had seen Eames only a handful of times. They had been together more when they had hated each other. He thought about not even having this little of Eames anymore.

 

“I’ll still be taking jobs and I'll still see you around, Arthur...just, I'm ready to be more serious with him.”

 

In that moment, Arthur remembered when he had finally agreed to exclusivity with Eames. He had kissed him hard, breathless and overjoyed. They had fucked like mad after their results came in, reveling in the skin to skin pleasure.

 

Arthur also remembered the way Eames looked at him the day he started using condoms again, his eyes shuttered and face blank, as if he were staring at a stranger he didn’t particularly like. Arthur was a lot of things but unsafe wasn't one of them.

 

Arthur swallowed around the painful lump in his throat, feeling a hot ball of anger right behind it.

 

“I think I deserve a last fuck for my troubles.”

 

“Of course, darling. Whatever you'd like.”

 

Arthur took in Eames’ earnest, eager-to-please smile.

 

“I want to fuck you bareback.”

 

Eames’ smile faltered a little.

 

Good. Arthur viciously hoped that Eames would be as unable to look his lover in the eyes as Arthur had been all those years ago when he’d rolled the condom on his cock.

 

“Of course.”

 

The walk to his bedroom seemed stilted, the silence oppressive. The sound of zippers being undone made Arthur flinch at how loud they were in the empty air. It had never felt this way before, this foreign between them. It made him nervous for some reason. He looked down as he worked Eames’ pants past his hipbones.

 

“Oh come now, darling, we’re much too practiced for it to be this awkward.”

 

Arthur glanced up and he relaxed a little at Eames’ expression. The frozen, uncertain look was gone and there was familiar affection there again. It emboldened Arthur. When he leaned in to kiss those generous, red lips, warmth swept down his spine. Everything else came quickly, as easily as a bad habit.

 

“You’re an idiot you know,” Arthur panted against Eames’ lips.  He thrust into the tight heat of his body, his nerves singing with pleasure at this much missed sensation. It was too good, too much, and Arthur never wanted it to end. “You should have just waited until after we fucked to tell me.”

 

“What can I say?” Eames laughed breathlessly. “I'm a surprisingly honest thief.”

 

Arthur had missed this so much it hurt.

 

Once upon a time, Arthur knew exactly how to move, what rhythm, what pace to make Eames come undone. It was the one thing that had always worked no matter how badly their relationship went, it was the one thing that they always got right.

 

And yet, much as he tried, it was like the language they were speaking had changed and Arthur found himself inarticulate. Much to his embarrassment, he had to help Eames stroke himself to completion well after he had already spent himself. His ears burned with shame despite Eames’ reassurances that it was perfectly lovely. He had to kiss Eames again before he could say anything else.

 

He touched those swollen lips after they parted.

 

“I love you,” he said softly, half hoping Eames wouldn't be able to hear over the panting of their breaths.

 

“I would have given anything to hear you say that years ago.”

 

“It isn't fair. I told you in the beginning I didn't want the house and the white picket fence and the two point five children.”

 

“I know. You were honest from the beginning, so I never expected that of you.”

 

“So why?”

 

“I moved on. I found someone who wanted the same things as me. That's just how it works. For what it's worth, I really did love you-- quite ardently--for all those years.”

 

A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat as Arthur turned over the concept that love had a shelf life.

 

“You'll survive, darling. I know, I've been in love with a man who didn't love me for years. You’re a much tougher man than me.”

 

The sight of Eames’ sympathetic smile made Arthur feel like pulling him in and kissing him and whispering ‘I love you’ until Eames would say it back.

 

He knew it wouldn’t work--it never worked on him when Eames tried it and Eames was so much better at love than Arthur was.

 

Arthur closed his eyes and kissed Eames softly, trying to commit his taste to memory. He was too bitter to wish him luck and happiness.

 

When Eames left, and Arthur saw that old, battered burner phone on his dresser, Arthur knew that a line had been severed. Sure, he’d still be able to call Eames about jobs, maybe even to catch up when enough time had passed, but never again would he be able to call Eames in the middle of the night because he was lonely and missed the sound of his voice. He thought about what Eames said, about finding someone who wanted the same things as him and he almost kicked a hole in his wall. All he wanted had just walked out his front door.

 

A part of him had believed that Eames would be there when he finally got Cobb home, when he finally figured out what he wanted. Eames would be there like he always was, stalwart and waiting for him to come home.

 

He had thought that if staying with him for all those years couldn't drive him away, that nothing would. Even after their fallout and the months of hating each other, Arthur thought that they would find a way to patch things up. He was so hopeful during the Inception job as Eames’ hostility eased into comradery and comradery warmed into affection. He thought for sure that they would leave LAX together and start working on trying to mend the holes they had both punched in their relationship.

 

And then Eames left.

 

No note, no goodbye. He just left Arthur in an empty hotel room with cold bed sheets.

 

It stung, but Arthur had figured that much payback was fair. It was alright, he'd figured he could get himself on more jobs with Eames and they would fall back into each other’s orbit again.

 

He never thought that Eames would just stop waiting for him.

 

It was like coming home, realizing the locks had been changed while you were gone, and someone else was living there now. He felt bereft. He had no home to come back to after all those years away.

 

Arthur thought about the apartment in LA that they used to share. He remembered the first time he had gone back after he followed Cobb out of the country--the blank spots on the walls where Eames had hung his paintings and the empty drawers that used to house his clothes. He remembered the almost empty box of condoms in the night stand and the ashtray of unfamiliar cigarette butts that was left with deliberate carelessness by the bed. He was so angry that he had the place on the market the next week.

 

He regretted not having it to go back to anymore. Even if Eames had hollowed it out of his presence, there were good memories within those walls. For a brief period of time it had been theirs and they had been happy there. Imperfect as it was, Arthur thought it was the closest they ever got to making it work.

 

Arthur laid back on his bed, too tired to change the sheets. He stared at the ceiling, nostalgia heavy in the air.

 

_“Lieutenant Charles Rutherford. Call me Charlie.”_

 

_“Arthur.”_

 

_“I look forward to working together, Artie. I can tell we’re going to be fast friends, you and I.”_

 

Arthur got up and dug his PASIV out from the safe in his closet. It wouldn't hurt to dream for one night.

 

End


End file.
